This is My Winter Song to You
by emmylouuwho
Summary: Series of song-inspired one-shots and ficlets. Various characters and pairings. Spoilers up to ADWD.
1. Sandor I

**Author's Note:** Spoilers up to _A Storm of Swords_.

* * *

_where do you go little bird  
__when it snows, when it snows?  
__when the world turns to sleep,  
__do you know, do you know?  
__is there something in the wind  
__breathes a chill in your heart and life in your wings?  
__does it whisper, 'start again, start again'?_

* * *

He'd meant all and nothing of what he'd said to his bird's brat of a sister. Her face, terrified and streaked by tears, haunted him no matter how he tried to drown himself in wine. Haunted him as she did now.  
He wanted her, but he wanted her willing, though he'd told the bitch differently. He wanted a lifetime of her laughter and smiles, all in his direction. He wanted to hear her sing in the hall before the fire, the courtly songs of love she liked so much. He wanted her to sing in his bed each night, secret songs beneath the furs meant only for him. He wanted her, loved her as much as a wretch like him was capable, and he had failed her.  
Leaves fell around him from the surrounding trees, the cold ground leeching all the warmth from his body. _Winter is coming._ His feverish smirk was more of a grimace. Truer words were never spoken. He watched the descent of a deep red leaf. For a moment he thought it was a weirdwood leaf; but no, the color was only due to the season. His fingers did nothing more than twitch as he tried to brush it from his chest.

Sandor looked up to see Lord Eddard Stark walking toward him, wearing the brown robe of a holy brother. Odd, besides being dead, the little bird told him once her father only kept to the old gods.  
Sandor didn't know whether to curse the little bird's father for bringing his children into the vicious world of the capital, or to beg his forgiveness for failing to protect his daughter—either of them, in fact.  
"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I should've taken her with me. I should have killed the little shit the moment he ordered her beaten the first time."  
Lord Stark regarded him silently.  
"I left her there. Little bird..."  
He closed his eyes, waiting for Lord Stark's judgement. It never came. Instead, a flask was pressed to his lips. After struggling to take even a small sip, he rasped a hoarse laugh.  
"At least... I'll die as I lived... belly full of wine."  
The voice that replied was not Lord Stark's, though it came from his lips. "Rest yourself, brother. You will not die. The Seven must be watching over you, to place you in my path."

* * *

_is your spirit everywhere  
__is your voice every tree, your soul of the air?  
__if there's no home is there no death?  
__is there no death?_


	2. Robb & Myrcella I

**Author's Note:** Spoilers up to A Dance with Dragons.

* * *

_underneath all, you're white  
__my lady, my love, my bride  
__in your darkest hours  
__will I love you still?  
__I have and I always will_

* * *

They had been wed just over three moons when the raven came. Myrcella walked the halls with confidence; she'd only been in Winterfell for nearly three years, but it felt more like home than Kings Landing ever had. She reached the door to her husband's solar the same moment that Maester Luwin did. She smiled in greeting, but he wouldn't quite meet her eye.  
"My lady," he murmured, following her into the solar. Robb greeted her more warmly, and the peculiarity of the maester's reaction was forgotten as she basked in the glow of his smile. He had little cause for smiles in the years since his father's death, and it was a welcome sight. Probably later than courtesy dictated, she noticed the new steward, Carter, who bowed respectfully.  
Her husband's expression darkened when he caught sight of Maester Luwin behind her, and when she turned, Myrcella noticed the tiny scroll in his hand.  
"What news is this?" Robb asked, and Myrcella held her breath unconsciously, names running through her mind. Surely someone had been killed, to merit the look on the maester's face. The older man's eyes flicked to her before resting on her husband's face.  
"A raven has come from King Landing, your Grace," he began, handing the tightly-rolled sheaf to Robb. As he read it, the maester continued. "The Queen Regent was tried by the High Septon."  
It shouldn't have come as a surprise; she knew better than most the way her mother ignored the abominable acts of Joffrey, and committed many herself. Gods only knew what she'd done once Tommen took the throne. Still, it surprised her all the same.  
"She confessed that none of her children were sired by the late King Robert. They were in fact the products of an unnatural relationship with her own brother, Ser Jaime."  
All eyes now trained on her, Myrcella felt curiously disembodied. Not surprising, as all she had ever known of herself was false. When she came back to herself, it was to Robb staring at her as though he had never seen her before.  
She gathered herself enough to speak. "I think I will return to my chambers, if it please your Grace."  
Myrcella did not wait for a response, simply fled. She wouldn't be ill or weep until she was in her chamber. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

* * *

Robb finally managed to get away from Carter and Maester Luwin, grateful they were the only two who knew so far. He'd made sure they both knew the consequences of not holding their silence; he would announce this himself, once he found the right time. He didn't have long though.  
Before anything else, he needed to speak to his wife. She had called him 'your Grace.' She never used his title after they were wed; it was always 'husband' or 'Robb.' He had watched her face as the maester spoke the news he could scarcely believe, even just having read it for himself. He'd suspected that Cersei's children weren't Robert's since they first came to Winterfell, but he'd never thought... it was unthinkable.  
Robb had watched shock give way to a moment of agonizing betrayal before the expressionless mask descended over his wife's countenance, reminding him for a moment of her mother. No, Myrcella was nothing like Cersei. She was warm and open. Every one of Myrcella's smiles was honest, whereas every expression of the Queen Regent was a calculation.  
His wife's eyes were red-rimmed but dry when she granted him entrance to her chamber. Her posture was perfect, hands clasped demurely in her lap. As if it weren't obvious she'd been crying, her face splotched red. As if her blonde curls weren't in disarray, escaping their jeweled hairnet.  
"Your Grace, I would ask safe passage across the Narrow Sea," she said, rising from her seat before the fire. There was no waver in her voice, but her white knuckles weren't quite hidden in the folds of her gown. "I will not stay here to witness you take–"  
"What?"  
She blinked at him. "What?"  
"What are you talking about, 'Cella?"  
She closed her eyes. A tiny crack in the mask. When she opened them, though, it was gone.  
"I know you mean to put me aside, but I will not– I cannot bear to see you wed another."  
"You presume a great deal."  
Her chin lifted a fraction. Good. Better wounded pride than that cold, indifferent mask.  
"I made vows before the heart tree, before a septon," he said, feeling his own anger rise. "Have I given you reason to doubt my word?"  
She shook her head, curls bouncing against her cheeks.  
"You are a Stark now. Your place is here."  
She stared at him a moment, still as a statue. Her breath caught on a sob, and she collapsed back into the chair, covering her face with her hands. He knelt before her, pulling at her wrists to try to see her face.  
"You had no part in their crimes, so no guilt should fall on you," he said, trying for gentleness now. Her lack of trust in him still smarted, but it was surely nothing compared to receiving such a blow to everything she thought she knew of herself. "You cannot choose your parents any more than the rest of us."  
"I didn't know, I swear to you, Robb. I didn't..."  
She let him take her hands now, and revealed a face twisted with terror and grief, tears spilling from her eyes. He kissed the knuckles of each hand.  
"Shh, I know, love. It does not matter."  
She looked at him as if he were a lunatic. "Yes it does! Your rule will suffer. Your bannermen won't allow themselves to be ruled by a man married to a... a bastard"—she choked over the word—"let alone one borne of, of..." Words failed her, and she just stared at him, shaking.  
"I will deal with them, 'Cella," he replied, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "Your place is here now, for the rest of your days."

* * *

_and you are changing now  
__you're part of me somehow  
__and I will never be alone.  
__in your darkest hours  
__will I love you still?  
__I have and I always will._

* * *

**Author's Note 2:** I know in the book she only confessed to Lancel and the Kettleblacks, but in my headcanon they're eventually going to find out about Jaime. And yes, the ending is a bit sappy, but what can I say? Robb seems to me to be full of the sap at times. And we love him for it. And I just love the Robb/Myrcella pairing.


End file.
